Friday, September 26, 2014

Do kids really like watching other kids in movies and on TV?
I certainly know I didn’t. At least not what passed for kids in the TV shows
and movies of my youth. My inability to relate to that hyperactive genus of freckle-faced
precocity known as the child actor contributed to my childhood aversion to
Disney, so-called “family entertainment,” and basically any film or TV program which trained its spotlight on adorable, towheaded moppets. Hence, I was nearly in my 30s before I got
around to seeing Mary Poppins, Pollyanna, The Sound of Music, or The
Parent Trap; all movies I've come to adore as an adult (ultimately the demographic most
invested in the sentimentalized idealization of that trauma-filled age-span known
as childhood), but which held little interest for me as a kid because I
simply saw no connection between myself and those miniature adult-impersonators I saw onscreen.

Take, for example, the TV sitcoms of my youth: Beaver Cleaver of Leave it to Beaver was a pathological
liar whose wobbly moral compass and iffy common-sense could be effectively shut
down by the feeble taunt of “chicken!”; those ginger twins, Buffy & Jody of
Family Affair were like these too-good-to-be-true, animatronic wind-up
dolls; Dennis the Menace was a well-intentioned but nevertheless misogynist, passive-aggressive sociopath;
and don’t even get me started on that mayonnaise-on-white-bread-with-Velveeta-slices
Brady Bunch clan.

Either absurdly goody-goody or possessed of an annoyingly
thickheaded inability to ascribe consequence to action, these characters may
have warmed the hearts of nostalgia-prone adults clinging to a revisionist revery of childhood as a time of mischievous scamps getting into adorable “scrapes,” and wide-eyed cherubs spreading sunshine and rainbows wherever they went; but I might
as well have been watching The Twilight
Zone for all their resemblance to the pint-sized Gila monsters I went to school with in real life.

Of course, there were a few rare exceptions. Given my own dark disposition, I had no problem with the refreshingly odd Pugsly and Wednesday Addams on The Addams
Family; I took considerable pleasure in Jane Withers as the hilariously bratty antithesis
to the sugary Shirley Temple in 1934's Bright
Eyes (“My psychoanalyst told me there
ain’t any Santa Clause or fairies or giants or anything like that!”); and was
perhaps most impressed by Patty McCormack’s Rhoda Penmark in The Bad Seed, who was essentially James Cagney in a pinafore. And
of course, one of my all-time favorites was the 1968 musical, Oliver! with its ragtag cast of underage
pickpockets, thieves, and swindlers.

If anything is to be gleaned from this, it’s that, as
a child, I longed for an alternative to these antiseptic images of childhood just as my parents yearned for something beyond the The Donna Reed Show/Father Knows Best model of family. Sure, kids can be sugar and
spice and all that, but kids are also self-centered, very sharp, and crueler than
most adults would like to admit. And childhood, while certainly a (perceived) joyous and carefree time when viewed from the perspective of adult responsibility and stress, is nonetheless a very scary period of life, fraught with anxieties and insecurities.

Redeemed by resilience, curiosity, and a limitless capacity for hope and dreaming, I've long held that children, in essence, aren't really that different from adults. Author Roald Dahl understood this, and that is why the ofttimes frightening, marvelously witty and acerbic Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (adapted from his 1964 book, Charlie & the Chocolate Factory) stands out as one of the few children’s movies from my childhood I recall with a great deal of fondness. Here was a terribly sweet children's movie that didn't need the sugar-coating.

Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka

Peter Ostrum as Charlie Bucket

Jack Albertson as Grandpa Joe

Willy Wonka and the
Chocolate Factory is a straightforward fairy tale - complete with moral and happy
ending - that takes place in a world where the fantastic and magical exists side
by side with the prosaic and practical; in other words, the world as kids
see it until we adults start to stick our noses in.

One day Willy Wonka, an eccentric, reclusive, candy
manufacturer around whose identity swarms mysterious Gatsby-like legends,
decides to open the doors to his wondrous candy factory to five lucky winners
of Golden Tickets he’s hidden in Wonka Bars shipped all over the globe. The winners and one guest receive a tour of his factory and a lifetime supply of chocolate. The winners:

...and most deserving, poor-as-a-church-mouse Charlie Bucket, who takes his beloved Grandpa Joe with him (and not his hardworking mom, but more about that later)

The four initial winners of the Golden Ticket are all comfortably well-off children (save for Veruca, who's loaded) whose want for the prize stems largely from a kind of entitled greed indigenous to comfortably well-off children. Only poverty-stricken Charlie (who has to attend school AND help his mother support four bed-ridden grandparents) harbors the dream of winning the ticket to improve his lot and that of his family. Thus, with sweet-natured Charlie the parable's obvious hero, and rival candy manufacturer Arthur Slugworth (Gunter Meisner) the villain, the four “naughty, nasty little children” must serve as emissaries of the film’s moral (our behavior and our hearts are the architects of our fate) and as foils for their unpredictable and mischievous host, Mr. Willy Wonka.

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

I love
the setup and structure of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The first half of the film being rooted in reality...well, a charming
kind of storybook reality. After all, we’re asked to accept that Charlie’s four
grandparents have not set foot out of the bed they all share for twenty years. The second half of the film is a pure flight-of-fantasy wherein a common childhood dream comes to life: a visit
to a magical candyland that’s part Disneyland, part amusement park funhouse, and
part house of horrors (adults tend to forget how much kids enjoy being frightened and gleefully grossed-out).
From the start, the film does a great
job of piquing interest in Wonka by having him discussed, Citizen Kane fashion, at length before he even makes an appearance. It
also gives us a likeable and sympathetic hero to root for in Charlie, who’s saved
from being a totally pathetic character by being blessed with a loving, if oddball, family. Conflict rears its head in the form of the other four Golden Ticket
winners, who may be amplified versions of archetypal bratty kids, but, with
the possible exception of Veruca, are not malicious or mean-spirited, just self-centered. (Even the
awful Mike Teevee precurses questions to his host with a polite, “Mr. Wonka….” )

Touring the candy factory in the S.S. Wonkatania

The two halves of the film complement
one another nicely. The first half is appropriately dingy and sentimental (bordering
on cloying), setting the stage for the second half , which, in mirroring the
unpredictable spirit of Wonka himself, explodes into a colorful, anarchic phantasmagoria
that plays gleeful havoc with the genre expectations of the children’s movie.

In fact, one of my favorite things
about Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is that it is such a sublimely
nasty twist on the traditional tolerant celebration of childhood precocity that
fuels so many films intended for children. Wonka’s factory‒ a place where anything
is possible…an environment wherein the laws of reason, logic, or physics don’t
apply‒ recall those marvelously anarchic Warner Bros. cartoons. The at-odds, adversarial
byplay between Wonka and the kids evoking for me the comic clashes between Bugs
Bunny (unflappable, always one step ahead, just a little screwy) and
Daffy Duck (unchecked id combined with brazen
self-interest).

People are fond of pointing out that Roald Dahl was not very
fond of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, no doubt due to the extensive rewrites his adapted
screenplay was subjected to by an unbilled David Seltzer (The Omen), and the shift of the story’s focus from Charlie to
Wonka. This point would be persuasive save for two things: 1) Dahl’s heirs stated
he would have liked the 2005 Tim Burton version (a film I found to be irredeemably
wretched, so, so much for tatse), and, 2) With rare exceptions, an author’s ability to write a book
doesn't mean a hill of jellybeans when it comes to understanding what makes a film
work (see: Ayn Rand, Vladimir Nabokov, and Stephen King). As far as I'm concerned, to place the focus on anyone but Wonka would have been sheer folly, especially if you're lucky enough to land an actor as inspired as Gene Wilder to take on the role.

Willy Wonka, as envisioned by
Wilder, lives up to the alliterative suggestion of his name by being quite
wonky indeed. Dressed in anachronistic high style, he sports a madman’s mane of
wiry locks yet keeps his wits about him at all times; is enthusiastic and
excitable as a child, yet remains unflappable and unflustered at even the most
life-threatening (to the children, anyway) occurrences; and has bright,
inquisitive eyes that can be warm and paternal one moment, wild and certifiably
insane the next. A genial host, he’s witty, sharp, sarcastic, and not
particularly child-friendly, and seems singularly disinterested in being the
surrogate parent and disciplinarian for the transgressions of his misbehaving
guests.

"What is this, a freak out?"The brilliance of Wilder's portrayal is that we expect the mystery surrounding Wonka to be cleared up when we meet him, but instead, it only increases. I don't care how many times or in how many ways Warner Bros. tries to wring income out of Dahl's book; Gene Wilder is the one and only Willy Wonka

Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein (both 1974) would expose Wilder's comic genius to a broader audience, but even at this relatively early juncture in his career, his performance is nothing short of Oscar-worthy. Creating an unforgettable, one-of-a-kind character (his Wonka is loveable and scary, frequently simultaneously) Wilder is the main reason the film works at all, and the primary factor in why the film has endured for so long after its initial flop release. Thanks to Gene Wilder's ingenious brand of insanity, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory has become a genuine children's classic. (Although Wilder was nominated for a Golden Globe, the film received but one Oscar nomination: for Best Original Score.)

By the way, did I mention Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is a musical? No, I didn't, but that's because I was saving it for this section. At a time when movie musicals were becoming as bloated as Violet Beauregarde at maximum blueberry transformation, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory successfully bucked the trend toward entertainment elephantitis (as much as a film deemed to be a boxoffice flop upon release can be called a success) and came up with an appealing, bite-size musical that for once didn't overwhelm its story and characters.
The songwriting team of Anthony Newly and Leslie Bricusse (Goodbye Mr. Chips, Scrooge!) reined in their usual tendency toward over-sophisticated melodies (although Cheer Up, Charlie, a real snoozer and always my cue to visit the snack bar, somehow made the cut) and came up with a score of tuneful, engaging songs possessing the simple, sing-song lilt of nursery rhymes and grade school. Best of all, each is staged in a clever, intimate scale that avoids bringing the proceedings to a halt and instead draws you deeper into the characters and storyline.

Director Mel Stuart wisely rejected the suggestion to expand the rousing "I've Got a Golden Ticket" into a large-scale production number that spilled out into the streets, a la 1968s Oliver!

Those around in 1971 can attest to the unavoidability of Sammy Davis Jr.'s grooved-up version of "The Candy Man" played 'round the clock on the radio at the time. And though it reached No.1 on the charts and became one of Davis' signature songs, its popularity and omnipresence failed to garner the song an Oscar nomination (for that matter, neither did the splendid "Pure Imagination") or boost public interest in the poorly-promoted film. (Willy Wonka's visually unappealing initial-release poster and non-existent marketing campaign clearly reveal that Paramount didn't have a clue how to sell it).

"The Candy Man" is sung by Aubrey Woods (here shown giving an inadvertent jaw realignment to a little girl who didn't know her cues) as Bill the candy shop owner. Both Anthony Newley and Sammy Davis, Jr. angled for the part. Once again, can we give it up for the wise decisions of Mel Stuart?

THE STUFF OF DREAMS

I saw Willy Wonka and
the Chocolate Factory in 1971 when it was released, largely at my older sister’s
prodding. Then being unfamiliar with either Roald Dahl or the book (which I’ve
since read it, and, as much as I love it, I find the film a vast improvement), Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory sounded far too much like Toby Tyler: or Ten
Weeks with a Circus, a cornball 1960 film serialized on The Wonderful World of
Disney that exemplified a great many of the things I hated about children’s
movies. I was 13-years-old at the time, realism was all the rage, and the movies I most wanted to see in
1971 were Klute, Carnal Knowledge, Straw Dogs,
The Devils, and Play Misty for Me; certainly not a treacly kiddie musical set in a
candy factory.

Those catchy Oompa-Loompa songs are near impossible to dislodge from one's memory

Lucky for me my parents put their foot down; it was either Willy Wonka or stay home. As this post attests, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was one of the happiest surprises of my youth. It's a children's movie made by people who, like me, had perhaps grown tired of the conventions of the genre. It's funny in a lot of sharp, adult-centric ways (the Wonka-mania vignettes are real gems), its dialog is witty, and its characterizations frequently laugh-out-loud hilarious. And while there's a great deal of sweetness and sentimentality to the story, it never feels forced or phony. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory never ever made me cry when I was a kid, but now as an adult, each and every time I watch it, I get an attack of waterworks when Wonka, Charlie, and Grandpa Joe are flying over the city in the Wonkavator.

Nowadays, when children indulging in bad behavior are rewarded with reality-TV contracts or celebrated by YouTube hits; I guess a movie like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory really pushes a few nostalgia buttons of my own. In today's culture-of-cruelty climate, where reality shows teach us that the-end-justifies-the-means if that end is fame or fortune; I can grow pretty sentimental about a story where a little boy is actually rewarded for doing the right thing.

Wonka: But Charlie...don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted.

Charlie: What happened?

BONUS MATERIAL
Fans of Joan Crawford's 1967 circus epic, Berserk will recognize Bruno the clown (George Claydon) as one of Wonka's Oompa Loompas.
Fans of Lost Horizon (1973) will recognize the dubbed singing of voice of Liv Ullman in that film (Diana Lee) to belong to Charlie's mother (Diana Sowle) as well.

In 2013 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was turned into a West End musical. (Although the title suggests little or no connection with the film, the show's score of all original music does include the Newley/Bricusse composition. "Pure Imagination.") Available on iTunes.

There are tons of sites devoted to trivia, production info, and hidden-joke theories surrounding Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. My favorite is the groundswell movement devoted to proving that Charlie's beloved Grandpa Joe is basically a selfish, lazy slob without a conscience. Precipitated by his first character-revealing response when Charlie is asked by his mother where he got the loaf of bread for dinner (suitable for a banquet, I'm sad to say): "What difference does it make where he got it? The point is, he got it!" and further exacerbated by his "magical" ability to get out of bed when there's something fun to do (aka, not work), a persuasive case is made against lovable Grandpa Joe throughout the web. Check out this link: Why Grandpa Joe is a Jerk , then, if convinced; join the "I Hate Grandpa Joe" Facebook page.

Monday, September 8, 2014

On the topic of the durability of certain horror
films/suspense thrillers, a defining factor for me has always been whether or
not the film in question continues to “work” long after its employment of the
genre’s raisons dˈêtre (suspense, shocks, twists, surprises) have become
well-known and anticipated.

For all its considerable merits, I don’t really regard The Omen as a classic horror film in the
vein of say, Rosemary’s Baby (1968) or
Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now (1973)—it’s a tad too silly and market-calculated for that. However, I do consider
it a classic “scary movie” in that it skillfully and stylishly makes good on
its dominant purpose: to provide audiences with a rollicking good time while scaring the bejesus out of them.

Gregory Peck as Ambassador Robert Thorn

Lee Remick as Katherine Thorn

David Warner as Keith Jennings

Billie Whitelaw as Mrs. Baylock

Harvey Stephens as Damien Thorn

A characteristic of a great many of my favorite horror films,
certainly those I consider to be classics, is the sense that they emerge out of
a larger social unease or cultural anxiety. That they are able to translate the
vulnerability and unease which lies at the core of fear into a narrative that serves as the cathartic
expression of of vague, unarticulated sense of dread. The kind of unnamed anxiety that can lie just below the
surface normalcy of calm. Rosemary’s
Baby found its scares in the cultural instability of the '60s; Invasion of the Body Snatchers—the emphasis
on postwar conformity and the threat of communism; The Stepford Wives—gender role reevaluation in the wake of
feminism.
These films understand that merely scaring an audience is to elicit a
temporary reaction: a fleeting sensation akin to making them laugh at the unexpected.
For a film to inspire real fear, it has to draw upon something infinitely more
complex and deep-rooted. Films which understand this basic principle manage to
enthrall and engage audiences years after the “spoilers” of their scare gimmicks have
become common knowledge.

Patrick Troughton as Father BrennanA lapsed Catholic about to get the point

Like that other favorite scary movie of mine, The Exorcist, The Omen is one of those rare horror films which rely heavily on
shock effects, yet still manages to play fairly well the second and third time
around. The over-the-top excesses of The Exorcist
benefit significantly from the seriousness of intent and absolute conviction of
its filmmakers (both director William Friedkin and author William Peter Blatty see
the film as an earnest treatise on the mystery
of faith). The Omen, on the other
hand, in spite of publicity-friendly lip-service paid by self-serious screenwriter
David Seltzer and co-creator/religious technical advisor, Robert L. Munger, never
convinces that it actually believes in its own pseudo-religious hokum. Rather,
it feels like a scare-the-pants-off-America project dreamt up by a sophisticated
William Castle (if one can imagine such a being).

Borrowing liberally from all that came before it while
inventing a few tricks of its own along the way, The Omen is a skillful cut-and-paste of The Exorcist, Rosemary’s Baby,
and The Bad Seed; all designed to cash-in
on the post-Exorcist interest in the
occult, the trend toward increasingly graphic depictions of violence in films, and the universal suspicion that all bratty children are likely the spawn of Satan.

Fans of religious supernatural horror will note that while there
are no witches, tannis roots, or yellow cat eyes in attendance, The Omen,for all intents and purposes,narratively begins where Rosemary’s
Baby ends: with the birth of the human antichrist into an unsuspecting
world.

Through a suspiciously serendipitous coincidence of tragedies, American
Ambassador Robert Thorn (Peck) is granted an orphaned infant born at the very
second his emotionally fragile wife Katherine (Remick), has given birth to a
stillborn child. At 6am on the 6th of June, no less.

Displaying a curious lack of concern for origins and paper
trails for a politician, loving husband Robert decides to pull a Folgers Crystals
switch on his wife and present the bouncing baby boy bundle as their own without
telling her (she’s emotionally fragile, y’know). A child whom they christen Damien,
a name even Minnie Castevet might find a tad Satan-y.

The origin of Katherine's escalating belief that Damien wants to kill her might be traced to her letting him go about with this haircut

As a still-photo montage illustrates, life is rosy for the
Thorn family until Damien turns five, when, it must be assumed, all hell literally
breaks loose. At this time I’d say violent death begins to follow little disaffected Damien
around like a puppy, but he already has one of those. A rather
king-sized, vicious-looking Rottweiler capable of devouring several puppies in one gulp, in fact, courtesy of one Mrs. Baylock (Whitelaw): mysterious replacement nanny and possessor of the
least-huggable name in live-in childcare.

It takes time, a little persuasion, and a rising body count,
but Robert Thorn eventually comes to learn and believe that his adopted son was indeed born
of a jackal, bears the mark of the best (that dreaded 666 area code), and is the
living antichrist. Will Robert be able to avert Armageddon and carry out the
requisite ritual execution that will save mankind? Well, The Omen being followed by two sequels and a remake
should give you a clue.

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

Being raised Catholic and coming from an extravagantly dysfunctional family has given me a leg-up in appreciating horror films
which use specious religious scripture as the catalyst for familial turmoil. In fact, newcomers to The Omen,
familiar only with its reputation, are often disappointed to discover that
director Richard Donner (Superman: The Movie), following in the footsteps of Rosemary’s
Baby, The Exorcist, and eventually paving the
way for The Shining, has made The Omen just as much a psychological
thriller about the emotional and mental disintegration of a family as it is a
horror film about the unleashing of the Ultimate Evil.The Omen's questionable scenario of a father surreptitiously swapping his newborn child is made credible by the implication that Kathy is in some way emotionally and psychologically incapable of withstanding the truth of having lost her child at birth. The parental, almost caretaker attitude Thorn adapts toward his wife, plus the ease with which he's persuaded to take the orphan child, suggests a stress present in the marriage before the film even begins.

Kathy: "We're the 'Beautiful People, aren't we?"A significant part of The Omen's drama concerns itself with the internal erosion of a family deemed to "have it all." Although contemporary audiences may be disappointed by the film's pace and relatively low body count, most appreciate that the film takes the time to establish an atmosphere of normalcy before the introduction of chaos

Although nowhere near as subtle as Rosemary's Baby in casting
suspicious events in such a light as to leave open the possibility of their malevolence
being merely a manifestation of the fragile mental state of its protagonist; The Omen does manage to wring considerable tension out of Kathy's can't-quite-put-her-finger-on-it unease around her child by effectively refraining from
having Damien behave in any manner that can be deemed suspicious or overtly sinister. (Not true of the heinous
2006 remake, which had its Damien affect a perpetual evil scowl, which, in a
child, only looks like persistent tummy trouble).

For the Thorns, a wealthy political couple with their eye on the Presidency, a child represents the realization of an idealized "perfect" family. And indeed for a time, the three enjoy an idyllic, picture-perfect bonding period. But, rather provocatively, Damien's true nature doesn't manifest itself in the performance of devilish deeds, but in a devoted mother having to confront the disquieting notion that not only is she afraid of her child, but perhaps doesn't even like him. The cracks in the Thorn marriage begin to show, unspoken tensions arise, and the end of the world is harkened by a family being emotionally and mentally being torn apart at the seams

Little Devil

I've always felt that one of the main reasons The Omen doesn't play out as preposterously as it does in summary is because the supernatural horror is kept within human-scale. For example, in an early draft of the script, Remick’s character actually admitted that her burning desire to have a child was rooted not in maternal longing, but in the politically-minded desire to project an image of a perfect family for the sake of her husband's career.

Though no longer explicitly stated in the film, there remains an air of neurotic vulnerability around Remick's character (and the Thorn marriage) that renders the introduction of the supernatural an almost secondary threat to the stability of the very rocky Thorn household.
Few horror films today seem to understand that without the firm establishment of something of value being placed at stake in the circumstances of the characters, no amount of high-tech violence or CGI explicitness is going to make a film the viscerally frightening experience it needs to be. Gross, repugnant, or gory, perhaps, but not frightening.

I don't do windows

PERFORMANCES

Legitimacy has always been the elusive, snobbish scourge of horror
films. Regardless of the quality, attach Joan Collins or American-International
Pictures to it and you’ve got yourself the cheapo half of a drive-in double
bill; bump up the budget, sign Hitchcock or some arthouse favorite as director,
and you’re looking at possible Oscar bait. In the wake of The Exorcist and Jaws, the
horror film was riding a crest of mainstream legitimacy, making it possible for
a film whose subject might otherwise have been considered best suited to Vincent
Price and Beverly Garland, to attract the likes of Gregory Peck and Lee Remick.

Having to go from no-nonsense pragmatism to possible insanity as a man who slowly comes to believe he must kill his child in order to save mankind, Oscar-winner Gregory Peck (To Kill a Mockingbird) has, arguably, the role in The Omen with the broadest character arc. But as it capitalizes on the same qualities of stolid authority and compassionate strength which typified much of his film work since the 1940s, it's really not much of a stretch for the actor. Still, Peck's innate stability contrasts effectively with the regal fragility of Lee Remick, with whom he shares a tender and believable chemistry.

The solid, rather old-fashioned performances of Peck and
Remick are two of the main reasons why The
Omen hasn’t been regulated to that slush pile I reserve for films I still adore
but find impossible to take seriously anymore (Valley of the Dolls, The Poseidon
Adventure, The Great Gatsby, The Towering Inferno). Both bring maturity,
intelligence, and a considerable amount of old-Hollywood gravitas to their largely
reactive, underwritten roles. A quality I'd not fully appreciated until I saw
those blank slates Liev Schreiber and Julia Stiles in the remake and realized
how ludicrous the whole enterprise feels without actors capable of conveying an appropriate
emotional maturity.

Yanks Lee Remick and Gregory Peck get solid UK support from Royal Shakespeare Academy alumni David Warner and Billie Whitelaw. Understated and natural, Warner's photojournalist gets my vote as the film's best performance, but Whitelaw (who grappled with Elizabeth Taylor in 1973s chilling Night Watch) can't help but evoke a few unintentional camp laughs in a role that posits her nefarious nanny as the anti-Mary Poppins.

THE STUFF OF FANTASY
After the headline-making excesses of The Exorcist, audiences were no longer satisfied with run-of-the-mill violence and death in movies. Fanned by the '70s "disaster film" craze and the escalating depiction of violence on television (I remember 1975s The Legend of Lizzie Borden and 1972s The Night Stalker both being taken to task for their bloody content), America ghoulishly attended certain films in the express hope of being treated to ingeniously gruesome and spectacular deaths.

The Omen became one of the Top 5 boxoffice releases of 1976 in large part due to word-of-mouth over its then-shocking violence and faint-inducing tension. While (mercifully) not on par with even the level of violence you can find in a PG film today, The Omen's talked-about setpieces still manage to pack a punch. In line with what I stated earlier about the ineffectiveness of horror without the establishment of human human risk; one would miss the point of The Omen's success were one to assume its boxoffice success was due exclusively to the explicitness of its violence and the extravagance of its deaths. I believe the violence in The Omen (which is surprisingly bloodless) got under people's skin because, in the context of the film, the deaths had the emotional weight of real jeopardy and loss. And Jerry Goldsmith's magnificently ominous score didn't hurt either.

I saw The Omen on opening night (June 25, 1976) and while I can't vouch for anyone passing out, I can certainly attest to the many screams; the patrons who chose to sit out much of the film in the theater's lobby; and the fact that my younger sister (who really should have learned her lesson after The Exorcist and The Day of the Locust), at the occurrence of a particularly startling, now-iconic moment, burst into tears and had to be taken to the restroom to compose herself.

Love how the newspaper obligingly supplies a gruesome photograph of the corpse on the front page.

THE STUFF OF FANTASY

Time, too many parodies, too many awful sequels, my own lapsed Catholicism, and the
swiftness with which its plot points became camp pop cultural clichés has
softened the impact of The Omen a bit for me over the years. But
I’m forever grateful that I first came to know of The Omen in the most ideal manner possible: through its ad
campaign.

1976 was an amazing year for film. So amazing that all of my
attention was taken up with many of the more high-profile, hype-attendant releases of
the day: Hitchcock’s Family Plot, the
US/Russian collaboration on The Blue Bird,
Streisand’s remake of A Star is Born,
Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver, the
remake of King Kong, Dustin Hoffman
teaming with Laurence Olivier in Marathon
Man, and Michael York in the sci-fi adventure, Logan’s Run.
This was also the year that saw the release of The Man Who Fell to Earth, nostalgia-based
films about both Clark Gable and WC Fields, Fellini’s Casanova, Liv Ullman’s return to Ingmar Bergman with Face to Face after her inauspicious shot
at Hollywood stardom, All The President’s
Men, and Network. Horror was
coming on strong with the release of Carrie,
The Sentinel, and Burnt Offerings. And I haven't even brought up the heavily-anticipated features by Altman, Bertolucci,
Polanski, and Vincente Minnelli that also came out that year. As I said, 1976 was
a particularly amazing year for a film fan.

My mind and imagination was so wrapped up in those films
that (strange as it seems) I had absolutely no foreknowledge of the forthcoming release of The Omen. What I do recall is riding the BART train to school one morning and being confronted by this massive
billboard in the terminal…this completely stark, black sign with white
lettering: “Good Morning. You are one day closer to the end of the world.” That
was it! Nothing else. It stopped me in my tracks. I had no idea it was an ad for anything at all...it was just his creepy, eye-catching sign with nary a movie studio logo in the corner or anything.
In the ensuing weeks, more
and more posters began showing up all over San Francisco. Each just as cryptic, just as foreboding:“If something
frightening happens to you today, think about it,”“You
Have Been Warned,” and inevitably,“This is your Final Warning.”

It felt as if an entire month had passed before the signs
began to include the 20th-Century-Fox logo in the corner, then
eventually, written in blood red, the words, “The Omen,” with what I then thought were bowling ball finger-holes
in the ‘”O” which of course I’d later discover were three sixes.

By the time these teaser ads gave way to graphic art featuring a little boy casting the shadow of some kind of beast, ads divulging the cast (real, honest-to-god Hollywood movie stars!
Not straight-to-Drive-In nobodies!), I was like a fish on the hook. The movie I had known absolutely nothing about beforehand had become the film I HAD to see.

I was too young to remember the groundbreaking "Pray for Rosemary's Baby" ad campaign whichlaunched the film that still remains my #1 favorite horror movie of all time, but I'm glad that the creative minds behind the marketing of The Omen gave me my own personal '70s version of the experience. Happily, once it was released, The Omen more than lived up to the hype and was quite the goosebumpy thrill-ride I thereafter sought to re-experience time and time again that summer. Indeed, a good deal of the goodwill I currently harbor for this film is due in large part to the pleasant memories I have of being young enough to have allowed myself to get so thoroughly caught up in the whole groundswell of excitement that accompanied the release of The Omen in 1976.

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LIZ SMITH'S COLUMN - Feb. 18, 2016

Raves for Dreams Are What Le Cinema Is For...: "I suggest that everybody who loves movies — and has a good sense of humor — visit this site, which has been around for about five years. Mr. Anderson writes lovingly, intelligently and wittily about movies he adores. And not just the usual suspects, either, although they are abundant. He takes seriously, more or less, 'bad' films such as 'Valley of the Dolls' or Elizabeth Taylor's famously campy 'Boom!' This is a great site, with fine writing and an unusual perspective." (Click on banner for full article)

About Me

"Life is too short without dreaming, and dreams are what le cinema is for."

This blog gets its title from a lyric to a song from the 1982 Broadway Musical, "Nine" by Arthur Kopit and Maury Yeston. This blog explores my lifetime love affair with the movies and examines the specific films that are, truly, the stuff that dreams are made of.

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Rated #3 on "HOT SHEET" Top Ten List (3/9/12)

BLOG: Dreams Are What Le Cinema Is For ... Ken Anderson's hypnotic blog — fabulously illustrated with movie screen caps — takes its title from a lyric from the musical Nine, so it's not surprising that his insightful writing about his lifelong love affair with movies is so deliriously entertaining. You'll fill up your Netflix queue after reading Anderson's reappraisals of an eclectic mix of films, including the heretofore unappreciated Ann-Margret vehicle Kitten With a Whip and one of Streisand's lesser musicals, On a Clear Day You Can See Forever, which are written with the same zeal as his takes on acknowledged masterpieces such as Robert Altman's sprawling Nashville. Jeremy Kinser

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